The Mystery on Fleet Street
by seffi
Summary: When the clever detective Holmes and his sensible comrade Watson sense something amiss at Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium, is the pair witty enough to outsmart a demon barber and uncover his secrets?
1. Chapter 1: An Unusual Dinner

"For God's sake, Holmes, I'm famished. Can't we take a rest from this wild goose chase and have some supper?" Watson complained wearily as he and his colleague strolled down the busy streets on the east side of London, around Fleet Street. The pair had been contacted by a young woman named Delilah Cunningham who claimed that her uncle, Richard Cunningham, had mysteriously disappeared. There were no leads or clues as to where this man was, why he had left his residence, or if he was still alive. Richard lived alone, retired, and rarely saw his niece, but when Delilah called on him about two weeks ago his home was empty.

Holmes had concluded, with little assistance from the police, that the home had been abandoned for at least a month due to the rotted food in the pantry and the gathering dust throughout the residence. Delilah was Richard's only living relative and friend, for he was grumpy most of the time and lived a rather secluded existence.

Despite the extreme lack of evidence on this case, Sherlock Holmes was bent on cracking it. The detective saw each case like a tree that needed to be cut down; some were older or more immense than others, and some were brittle and weak. Sherlock compared the evidence which he gathered to an axe that may either be sharp and sturdy, or blunt and ineffective. No matter how vast the tree was, or how useless the axe was, Sherlock Holmes was always determined to cut right through the center of the mystery.

With this particular case, Holmes and Watson had spent hours searching Richard Cunningham's small London home inside and out, emerging from the investigation with nothing substantial except exhaustion and frustration. Sherlock and his assistant were now examining the bustling streets around the missing man's abode, seeking strange behavior that might help to shed some light on the dim puzzle. The two detectives hadn't eaten all day, but that didn't bother Holmes. Watson, on the other hand, was growing rather impatient. After raising the subject of dinner for the third time, his partner finally said,

"Oh, why not. I suppose we could still examine the civilians as you stuff your face," Holmes said with a sarcastic smile.

Just as the pair rounded the corner, they found themselves next to a restaurant swarming with guests. Sherlock read the name aloud, "Mrs. Lovett's. A meat pie shop, how convenient..."

They seated themselves at a table outside, Holmes made sure to have a good view of both the street and the fellow customers. Soon, a woman arrived at the table to serve them, who Holmes knew was Mrs. Lovett—due to her posture and the lavish way she dressed—and he immediately began to analyze her in his mind. Mrs. Lovett's dark, sunken eyes and pale, drawn face indicated that she had experienced much grief, most likely lost her husband. Yet, her overdone appearance and constant adjusting of her dark, frizzy curls meant that she was still trying to impress someone. That someone was whoever was working upstairs as a barber, for the woman occasionally glanced at the closed door of the shop. Lastly, her forced smiles and painted-on innocence were definite indicators that she was trying to hide something from all of her guests and patrons...something dark and serious.

"Evenin', gentlemen. Can I fix yous up with a nice cup o' ale?" Mrs. Lovett said in a carefree manner.

"Yes. And a meat pie for myself," Watson replied, slightly surprised at her illiteracy.

"Sure thing, love." The baker replied. "Toby!" She called, pointing to the table at which Watson and Holmes sat.

"Right, mum!" A boy of only about 10 years old rushed over to the indicated table and poured ale into the empty cups already set there. Sherlock looked the boy over. He was definitely not the son of Mrs. Lovett. Toby's hands were bandaged, revealing that he had spent his early days in a workhouse. He was also very obedient and respectful towards his "mum", who had probably saved him from a much worse master.

"Excuse me, lad, but who works in the shop upstairs?" Holmes' eyes drifted up to the door of the barber's shop as he asked this.

The boy's smile slowly faded, "Oh. That's where Mista Todd works."

Toby turned his attention to another table and Holmes pondered his response. The lad clearly wasn't fond of this Todd fellow at all, which was more evidence that Mrs. Lovett had fallen for the barber, and Toby was displeased by this. But why was this boy being so protective? What was there to fear of this barber?

By now, Watson's meat pie had arrived, and Sherlock was intently observing his assistant devour it.

"Holmes, if you are so hungry, order a pie for yourself. Just _please_ don't watch me like a starving lunatic." Watson said, probably annoyed at not only his partner's staring, but being kept from food all day because of the case.

_The case._ Holmes replayed Toby's facial expression at the mention of Mr. Todd again in his mind. The young boy seemed suspicious of the man, and his eyes were filled with dread. Things were starting to make sense after all. Now Sherlock Holmes found himself looking up at the entrance to the barber's shop, hoping to get a glimpse of Mr. Todd.

Mrs. Lovett strolled by again, checking up on all of her visitors to see that they were satisfied. Holmes took this opportunity to ask her something.

"Pardon me, madam, but I was curious as to what meat you use in your pies."

The baker smiled a bit uncomfortably at this, "Sorry, dearie, but it's a secret recipe, all to do with herbs. Been in my family fer years, it has."

Holmes once again had the feeling that she was concealing more than a simple family secret.

"In that case," he responded cleverly, "I'll have to have one of these 'world-famous' pies for myself."

The pie, when it arrived, tasted like nothing Holmes had sampled before in his life. It was delicious, but rather greasy. Every bite he took seemed to have a different flavor than the last. The color resembled that of beef or ham, but had an odd texture.

Sherlock soon took his attention away from evaluating his dinner when he took notice of a man climbing the steps to the door to Mr. Todd's. Sure enough, the barber stepped out onto the balcony to greet his guest. The detective suddenly knew why Toby stayed clear from this man. Mr. Todd had messy, back hair with a peculiar white streak running through the left side of it. His face was paler than Mrs. Lovett's, his features showing signs of great impatience and stress. The barber stepped slickly, and had a sly grin that reminded Sherlock of a cat about to pounce on a harmless rodent. Even from such a distance, Holmes saw Todd's eyes flicker with hidden pain, mischief, rage and even loneliness. What a curious, _mysterious_ man...

"You're on to something. You have been asking strange questions and looking about all evening. What are you racking your brain about this time?" Watson inquired.

"I'm thinking," Holmes began, "That Mr. Cunningham was greatly in need of a shave when he disappeared..."


	2. Chapter 2: Arsenic

Sherlock Holmes peered out through the dusty window of the inn. The grimy street below was tinted a pale blue from the crescent moon above, and the shadows of the night seemed to creep with a movement of their own. The detective's eyes were growing heavy, but there was little chance his ticking, restless brain would bid him rest on such an evening. John Watson's quiet snoozing was barely audible. _Poor bloke, _Holmes thought. Last night hadn't been particularly kind to Watson...

* * *

"That's preposterous, Holmes. You and your wild ideas...A barber recklessly killing people and a baker who makes the remains into pies! What would be the motive?!"

"We shall soon find out...By the way, Watson, did you have any inkling as to what kind of meat was used in those pies?"

"It...was clearly...a form of...exotic species...or maybe a local breed of...—"

Holmes chuckled, "Exactly."

With that, Watsons face turned an odd shade of green.

* * *

Sherlock's mind was rushing like a relentless waterfall, wearing down all of his clues until he found the precise answers to this case. As sure as he was that Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd must've had dealings in Cunningham's departure, Sherlock was never one to assume under false pretences.

The duo had taken up temporary investigative headquarters in the Fox & Rabbit Inn, about a block from Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium, for it would be much too time-consuming to endure the lengthy carriage ride across London each day. Morning would be arriving soon, and Sherlock Holmes had been weaving a plan the whole night. This case was terribly challenging, he admitted, but that was Holmes' specialty. He was going to gather all the information he could about Mr. Todd, and then trap that greasy cat in a cage of the barber's own weaknesses.

Watson woke but an hour later, and Holmes told him of the grand plan which he had derived from a night of lost sleep. And after making sure to eat a quick breakfast of porridge and toast, the pair set off into the street. As the edges of the sun shone silver through the dense smoke and clouds that hung drearily over London, the seams of Sherlock's heart were trimmed with confidence and justice. The detectives' scheme was about to be set in motion. The sounds of wooden cab wheels, horse hooves, and laced shoes against the cobblestone fueled the air with life and energy. Holmes gave a curt nod, and the two detectives then departed from each other in opposite directions. They would be able to collect double the data by splitting up, and wouldn't seem too obvious.

John Watson made his way casually down the street, stopping in front of a merchant who was selling vegetables,

"Excuse me, good sir, but I am in quite the predicament. I have to dine with my in-laws at noon, and I look hardly presentable. Do you know of a good barber in the area?"

"Why yes, I do," replied the scruffy, old, grocer, "Sweeney Todd is quite the accomplished barber. On the corner of Fleet Street, but a block from here. He works...above a meat pie shop, I believe."

"And how, may I inquire, have you come to learn of his credibility?" Watson pushed on.

"Eh... He challenged another barber in the area a couple months ago. Shaved a cheek in under a minute, Todd did. Quite the talent he has... Though, I've never come across one of his customers."

Watson thanked the vendor and moved on, satisfied with what he had learned. He now knew that Todd's first name was Sweeney, and that there was a high possibility that none of his customers had lived to talk about the barber.

Through the bustling crowds of Londoners, Sherlock Holmes was approaching the scenario a different way. He slinked though alleyways, hid in shadows, and wore the aura of a lonely vagabond. Wherever suspicious behavior was, Holmes would find it. He could see through people with nothing but a glance, and he scanned the masses of people like a lion looking for weak prey without attracting any attention. A troubled young lady, a happy old couple, a mischievous tot, a deranged woman, a lonely old man...Sherlock's eyes went back to the mad beggar woman. He liked insanity, it had so many facets and was very difficult to understand.

"Danger! Evil! All we see is evil, evil!" The woman was shouting mindlessly, walking in circles, obviously in horrid shape. Holmes became curious as to why she wasn't in an institute of some sort and decided to observe her more closely. He stepped out into the dull, gray, daylight and tried to act slightly mentally unstable as he casually made his way towards the yelling woman. Up close, her clothes were tattered, her skin bruised and dirty. She has been insane for several years, but wasn't born that way. Judging by the mangled dress, she used to have money, but tragedy struck her.

Just as Holmes had predicted, the beggar approached him, pulling at his jacket and looking into his eyes with a blemished face, preaching words that sounded familiar.

"Sir! Beware! Beware the smoke that rises, rises, from the cold night! The stink of death! Death! The devil walks with his wife! Walks on these very streets! They bring evil! Evil, I say!" With that, she turned away and began walking in circles again.

Sherlock Holmes knew the devils of which she spoke of. Last night, he had seen and smelled the deathly smoke. He had found the evil that he was searching for, but he wouldn't face it, not yet. Not with half of this immense puzzle still missing.

When the pair met up at noon at the inn, the pair exchanged the information they had collected.

"I know she's not completely insane. She was poisoned somehow..." Holmes pondered.

"There is an apothecary on the corner. I believe that our next step would be to investigate there."

Edward Riddle's Apothecary & Herb Shoppe had an occult flavor to it. It was a cramped space, lined with unstable shelves of odd vials. Roots and plants hung from the ceiling, and Edward Riddle himself was a short, stout, wrinkled man with wise eyes.

Holmes, the great actor he was, put on the disguise of an intelligent doctor. "Excuse me, sir, my associate and I are studying medicine, and are collecting data on different variations of natural poison so that we may someday invent antidotes. I have heard it rumored that some poisons, if taken in a small dose, can cause madness. Is this true?"

"Ah, what curious minds yours are," Riddle began, "Aye, this is true, but there is only one poison I carry which has such capabilities. I believe you are looking for arsenic. "

"May I purchase a sample?" Sherlock responded.

"Why yes, right this way, son." With that, Riddle led Sherlock into the back of the store into a door that looked like it hadn't been opened for years.

As Sherlock distracted Edward Riddle, Watson snuck over to the shopkeeper's desk. It was covered with dusty, yellowed papers and textbooks on plants. The detective sifted through the mess until he found what he was looking for: a record book of sales. Making sure that Riddle was still engaged in deep conversation with Sherlock, Watson opened the fragile records. He didn't have much time, and he couldn't steal it, for the old man would definitely notice by the evening.

Watson let his deductive skills take over...Holmes said that the woman had been insane for several years, which means that she was poisoned long ago. He turned to the back of the book and flipped through the pages as fast as he could, looking for the word arsenic.

_Not there, next page, no, only herbs, was this the right store? Keep going. Looking for arsenic, next page, more records, no, no, running out of time...found it!_

**ONE VIAL OF ARSENIC. PURCHASED BY ELEANOR LOVETT, APRIL 12TH, 1852.**

**

* * *

**

Author's Note:

I hope all of you who subscribed to/read my first chapter are pleased with where the story is going. I know that in Sweeney Todd, Mrs. Lovett claims that she tried to prevent Lucy from taking arsenic, but I believe that she was lying. From my perspective, I think that Nellie encouraged Lucy to take the poison and end it all. Mrs. Lovett was probably upset at the loss of her husband, but missed Benjamin at the same time and was jealous of Lucy. That is why I wrote that Mrs. Lovett purchased the arsenic, not Lucy. I hope that makes sense... Anyways, please respect my interpretation of the story. 


End file.
